


Year 1

by Princess_Aleera



Series: The Mute!Cas Verse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel bakes great pies, Castiel is easily affected by movies, Crying, Domestic Fluff, Fallen Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Mute Castiel, Nightmares, Pie, Porn, Possessive Behavior, Schmoop, Shower Sex, Sick Dean Winchester, Sign Language, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 18:11:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Aleera/pseuds/Princess_Aleera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assorted fics from Dean and Castiel's first year in Grass Valley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pressure Overwhelming

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags on each individual chapter; there's everything from fluff, to sick!fic, to angst and crying to porn. A little something for everyone, in other words. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Cas painted the kitchen._

The hallway’s still filled with all kinds of rubbish – buckets of paint, unopened boxes of kitchenware and tools, tons of bubblewrap Dean has no idea how got here – and Dean kicks off his shoes and weasels through while trying not to topple anything over. He shrugs out of his jacket and drops it on a spare patch of floor before entering the living room. “Cas?”

Cas peeks out from the kitchen and gives Dean a little wave, before he half-jogs across the mostly-empty living room to plant a firm kiss on Dean’s mouth. Somehow, Cas seems to have decided that the two of them buying a house together means he’s officially entitled to make out with Dean whenever he wants. Dean doesn’t have the heart (or want, really) to tell him no, so he just slides his arms around Cas’s waist and kisses him back.

Cas probably knows the answer already, he’s very good at reading Dean, but he still signs _did you get it?_ and leans back with excitement written across his face.

“I got it,” Dean grins, and Cas attacks his mouth again. It’s gonna be a bitch having two jobs, but he can’t manage to be anything other than happy. He’d never have gotten this job at the morgue if it wasn’t for that awesome secretary lady – the one with the iCarly t-shirt. Even her atrocious sense of fashion, or whatever it is you can call that, doesn’t bother Dean all that much. Tammi seems cool.

Cas grabs his wrist suddenly and drags him into the kitchen. “What’s –” but Dean can see what. “ _Wow,_ Cas. You do this by yourself? Holy shit.”

Cas looks so proud he could cry. It’s a weirdly good look on him.

Dean put up kitchen shelves yesterday, with Cas’s help. The oven and fridge came with the house, and they’re saving up for a microwave oven as soon as possible. The kitchen hadn’t been bad at all – just very _plain_ , all crème-colored (according to the realtor – Dean thinks ‘white’) and bland. Now… now it’s blue. The whole kitchen is painted sky blue, two layers by the look of it, and there are long strips of used painter’s tape rolled into a ball on the kitchen counter. Dean can see a speckle of tiny drops of blue on the wooden floor, but overall, it’s pretty damn good work.

 _Like it?_ Cas signs, the excitement on his face now warring with worry, and Dean realizes he’s been staring at the walls for over a minute without saying a word. Cas is a little twitchy, and now that Dean’s looking for it, Cas’s skin is slightly reddened and his hair’s standing up in straight spikes, like he’s been scrubbing himself long and hard in the shower.

“It’s _awesome_ , Cas.” He puts an arm around Cas’s neck and pulls him in. “You really did all this? In a day?” Cas nods and looks around. “That’s damn impressive.”

 _Like the color?_ Cas is back to looking squirmy with happiness again, just like he should.

“Yeah, it’s great! None of that crème-blah-blah. It’s nice with some colors.” Cas nods in agreement.

They stay in the kitchen for a while longer, Cas’s back pressed against Dean’s chest. They just look at the walls, really, smelling the fresh paint and fresh house around them. Dean closes his eyes and burrows his face into Cas’s hair. It smells newly washed and coconutty, and he lets that ground him. This is all happening so _fast_. House, job, second job, Sammy in school, Cas at home doing renovations – in a matter of a month, everything’s just _settled_. That’s it. Dean’s settled down. Which is something he’s never wanted to do before; not even when he was with Lisa. He liked being there, and he loves both Lisa and Ben, but he was there first and foremost because it had been Sammy’s last wish.

Now he’s here, in a tiny house in a tiny Californian suburb, and he’s got a maybe-possibly-boyfriend and a garden, and neighbors that seem about as normal as they can get. And the worst part, the part that keeps him up most of the night, the part that makes his heart race even when he stands here with Cas, is that he doesn’t _want_ anything but this. He doesn’t _want_ to hunt. He wants to stay here and paint the living room green. He wants to teach Cas how to make pancakes from scratch, wants to get to know his colleagues at work, wants Sam to come over in the weekends and have barbeques in the backyard. Dean _wants_ this, so much it makes him sick, and –

Cas turns around, and Dean opens his eyes to see his angel tilting his head at him. _Wrong?_ Cas signs.

“It’s nothing. Just… a lot of change, y’know?” They move into the living room and sit down on the array of blankets they’ve laid out there until they get a couch, Cas settling between Dean’s legs, leaning back so they can both stare out the window, into the garden. Cas trails his fingers over the skin of Dean’s hand, feeling the knuckles and the callouses there. He nods, once. _I know,_ he signs.

Dean sighs and kisses Cas’s temple. He notices a thin stripe of paint behind Cas’s ear and grins, before carefully rubbing it away. Cas leans into the touch and sighs. _Tired._

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Dean waits for a beat. “Too tired?” He means it as a joke, but it comes out too soft.

Cas snorts and turns his head so he can catch Dean’s lips with his own, before shaking his head. Then he turns completely and moves, kind of awkwardly, until he’s half-straddling Dean. It’s hesitant, neither of them knowing quite what to do with their hands, but Dean puts his hands on Cas’s hips and that seems to work. Cas puts his arms around Dean’s neck and nuzzles at the skin there. Nips and bites a little, before licking it better and leaning back, checking for Dean’s reaction. Dean kisses him, his fingers tracing the waistband of Cas’s jeans.

This… _this_ is still weird, but it’s a good weird. It’s slowly starting to become a more familiar weird as well. He knows what will happen when he skims his hands down Cas’s backside to grip his ass; knows how Cas will arch and huff against his neck, his fingers clumsily trying to unbutton Dean’s shirt. Knows that Cas looks unbelievably good on his back, sprawled naked on these blankets, looking up at Dean with only a fraction of self-consciousness. Knows that he can make Cas come like this, with his fingers and mouth alone, wrenching those garbled half-sounds out of his angel’s mouth as he writhes and shakes underneath Dean.

When they’ve both come down from their high, sweaty and sticky and curled around each other and just _breathing_ , Dean skims one hand down Cas’s backside. Cas tenses up – he always does. Dean doesn’t think he’ll stop doing that for a long time yet; if ever. But he trails his fingertips across the ridges of Cas’s scars, sees impossible shapes and patterns in the red welts, imagining what power once lay just beneath this very soft skin. Cas, the little spoon at the moment, curls in on himself until he’s in a fetal position. He shivers, and Dean moves away a little so he can press soft kisses to the inflamed skin. It’s hot to the touch – always is, it seems. Like these scars are closer to Cas’s core than the rest of his body.

Cas is quiet and still beneath Dean’s touches, clearly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t move. “You okay, Cas?” Dean whispers, and Cas’s head does a sort of half-shake, half-nod. Dean rolls Cas over so he can see his face; sees that Cas’s eyes are filled with pain. Past pain. “Hey,” Dean murmurs and pulls him in, and Cas doesn’t sign anything. Just clings to Dean’s body as they lie in the middle of their new, empty living room, naked as the day Dean was born. Cas rasps out sharp breaths against Dean’s neck, and Dean keeps a steady hand on the middle of Cas’s back.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says quietly after a while. “This… that – that. I know why you’re… it’s okay, is what I’m saying. Y’know? It’s just another part of you. Nothing that ain’t supposed to be there.”

Cas shakes his head, but doesn’t move away. If anything, he moves closer, and Dean cards his other hand through Cas’s hair. They smell like sweat and sex and paint, and it’s all good. “No, Cas, this is just… this ain’t nothing you need to be ashamed of. Okay? Please, don’t be.”

Cas sighs against his neck and signs with one hand. _Not something I can help._

“No, I know –” Dean chokes on the ‘baby’ that was sneaking its way out, because where the fuck did that one come from? But he kisses Cas behind his ear anyway. “I know that. And.. and I’m not saying it’s something you gotta fix either. It’s just… it’s not an issue for me, okay? So don’t act like I hate them or something. ‘Cause I don’t.”

Cas does another sharp, uneven exhale, one that Dean by now knows that means Cas is close to tears again. “Hey, sshh. Nothing to freak out about.” It’s starting to get a little chilly, so he leans over Cas’s form to grab one of the blankets they’re not lying on and cover them both with it. Cas sticks to him like a suction cup, but when Dean lies back down, Cas starts signing again. _I hate them._

Dean sighs, and turns until he’s lying on his back. Cas crawls on top of him and Dean locks his arms around his angel’s waist. Keeping him there. “I know, Cas. I know.”

_They’re ugly._

Dean closes his eyes and for once ignores the panicky flutters in his stomach – just lets the first thing in his mind slip past his lips. “Nah, you’re beautiful.” He knows it’s not cheesy, because Cas doesn’t understand cheesy. Not like this.

Cas stills, before curling tighter around Dean. He noses against Dean’s jaw, and it’s as close to a ‘thank you’ as Dean needs.

They lie there in silence for another half hour, Dean carefully brushing his fingers across Cas’s scars all the while. The sun sets outside the window, and the living room gradually turns dark. There’s a single lamp in the corner, but it’s not lit. Cas is calm and pliant on Dean, and his eyes are closed. Dean knows he’s not sleeping, though. “You okay, Cas?” he murmurs – again. This time, Cas nods. “ ‘Kay. Good.” He scratches lightly, almost playfully at Cas’s scalp, and that works. Cas lifts his head and kisses Dean’s jaw. _Dinner?_

“Sure, I can do that,” Dean says and grins.

~*~


	2. And I Know That My Heart Will Go On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean and Castiel watch Titanic, and it hits a little closer to home than Castiel had anticipated._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wonders about the distinction of Cas/Castiel, it’s because this is from Castiel’s POV. Dean thinks of Castiel as Cas now, but Castiel will always think of himself as Castiel. And as for Balthazar’s tweaked quote- most of season 6 is AU in this story. That means the events in 6x17, My Heart Will Go On, never happened. Though the Celine Dion discussion presumably happened, still. This takes place approximately two and a half months after Chapter 1.
> 
> This chapter contains spoilers for the entirety of Titanic's plot.

It’s Friday night and weekend, Castiel’s favorite time. Dean doesn’t have any work on Saturday, which means they can stay up as late as they want. And as fun as it would be doing certain… things, Cas has something special he wants to share with Dean tonight.

 _”Titanic_?” Dean stares at the TV-screen. “Seriously, Cas?”

 _I want to see it,_ Cas signs stubbornly. _It’s supposed to be one of the greatest love films ever made._ Plus, he doesn’t tell Dean, he wants to see why Balthazar hated it so much. To be able to stir such an annoyance in his late brother, this movie must either be very, very bad, or very, very good.

Dean looks pained and his gaze flickers towards the screen, where the commercials are still rolling. “Just- _really_ , Cas?”

Castiel nods and fixes his own gaze on Dean’s. _Please._ He knows there is no way Dean can resist it when he pouts.

“Ah, c’mon,” Dean whines, and Castiel sees the exact moment his stubbornness resolves. “Fine. But it’s gonna kill you, Cas.”

 _I’ll be fine._ He drags Dean down in the couch with him, and his boyfriend pulls him close when they settle. Castiel presses back against Dean’s warmth, and Dean noses Castiel’s neck in that way that always makes him shiver. Dean chuckles at the slight shudders, and pulls Castiel a little closer. This, this is why Castiel loves Fridays so much.

And one of the _many_ reasons why he loves Dean so much.

“That Kate Winslet is a _fine_ -looking woman,” Dean rumbles against him, and Castiel snorts.

 _I think Leonardo DiCaprio is handsome,_ Castiel signs.

Dean goes still behind him for a moment, before he chuckles and kisses Castiel’s cheek. “ ‘Course you do.”

Castiel sighs and leans back to watch the movie. The scenery is beautiful, and the actors believable. An hour into the movie Castiel still doesn’t know why Balthazar hates this movie so much. He would think his brother would have liked it; this is a classic story of forbidden love. Plus, it has a lovemaking scene, which Balthazar always preferred in movies.

“You like it so far?” Dean murmurs into his ear, and Castiel nods eagerly. He does. He find Rose and Jack a beautiful, complex couple, and he would much rather see her with Jack than with her betrothed, Caledon. Caledon’s love for Rose is obvious, but it is based on monetary gain and possessiveness. Jack finds Rose fascinating, graceful and complex, like she _is_ , without caring about her social status or his lack of it.

Castiel turns his head so he can see Dean’s face. Dean’s watching the movie closely now, his bright eyes following the events eagerly. One arm is wrapped around Castiel’s waist, the other one resting in the back of the couch, and Castiel grasps his boyfriend’s hand in his own. Dean blinks and looks over at him, smiling softly. “You okay there, Cas?”

Castiel nods and presses a kiss to the corner of the other man’s mouth. _You are my Jack,_ he thinks and lets his lips linger against Dean’s chapped ones. Dean looks surprised, but pleasantly so, and Castiel goes back to watching the movie. He still doesn’t understand why Dean didn’t want him to witness this love story. It’s perfect.

A half hour later, he knows why.

“Relax, Cas,” Dean murmurs and squeezes his shoulder.

 _Will they be okay?_ Castiel signs, not daring to look away from the screen. The ship is sinking, Caledon has abandoned Rose to save his own life, and the ship’s tilted so much it’s almost completely vertical. Castiel doesn’t understand how that can be possible, but then he hears the splintering sounds and realizes that it isn’t. It isn’t possible.

He hitches a breath when the giant, beautiful ship splits in two, and countless people fall screaming into the dark, foamy abyss below.

“I don’t wanna spoil the movie for you, Cas,” Dean says, “but, um… just brace yourself, okay?” Another reassuring kiss against his neck.

This is the first time Castiel starts to question the survival of Jack and Rose’s relationship. Balthazar hated this movie, Dean had tried to forbid him from watching it. There must be a reason. But surely Jack and Rose will be okay? They are _soul mates_. They are meant to be together forever.

Castiel watches as the couple, speaking to each other almost calmly while the rest of the passengers howl in fear and sorrow, sinks into the cold ocean. The background music is gorgeous, and yet almost painful to listen to. It speaks to Castiel of true love even as his two soul mates are in the ocean, fighting for breath and warmth.

“Sshh, Cas,” Dean murmurs, and Castiel realizes his breathing is much faster than normal.

Jack finds Rose a door she can rest on, away from the water and keeping her from developing hypothermia, and for an agonizing moment, Cas truly believes they will be okay. But Jack can’t join her. The door will sink.

Dean’s arm around his waist tightens protectively, and Castiel realizes that his couple, his beautiful, complex, _perfect_ couple won’t get their happy ending.

He watches Jack, his _Dean_ , freeze to death while whispering to his beloved that she must remain happy and live a long, fulfilled life. Castiel sobs and tightens his grip on Dean’s hand, his man shushing him gently.

Jack, so pale he’s blue, sinks into the black depths of the ocean, and Rose is alone. Castiel misses most of her rescue, and the conclusion eighty-four years later, when it’s revealed that the old woman is indeed the same Rose. He spends those moments with his face pressed into Dean’s neck while his own soul mate whispers soothing phrases into his ears.

“Next time we’ll just do as I say and watch an action film, okay, Cas?” Dean says, the edge of humor smothered by the real distress in his voice.

Castiel can’t answer, just holds on and tries not to imagine Dean’s face on Jack’s body. Castiel on the door, holding his oh, so cold hands. Dean’s promise as he smiles a last time before closing his eyes and disappearing forever.

“Cas, look,” Dean whispers encouragingly, and Castiel does. Rose, an old woman now, exhales one last time, before growing still in her bed. Castiel doesn’t want to see. He doesn’t want to think about growing old alone, _dying_ alone. He hates this movie. He hates to have seen the love between those two people, only to have it snatched away. Leaving only broken pieces of the stunning woman Rose Dawson.

But the scenery changes- turns lighter, filled with gold and bright colors, and after a moment, Castiel recognizes one of the finer halls of the Titanic. Rose is standing on the top of the stairs, looking as young and gorgeous as ever, and - Castiel’s breath catches.

“Even after death, you can get your happy ending,” Dean murmurs, and Castiel feels a fresh wave of love and devotion for this man crash through him. It hurts, and he can’t do anything but cry.

Dean holds him close as Jack and Rose dances, and the song begins. _That song. Balthazar’s song._

”That God-awful song makes me want to smite myself,” Balthazar had once said with distaste. “If I could, I’d go back in time and erase that whole bloody movie from existence.”

But Castiel doesn’t find it God-awful. It speaks of love that reaches across space and time, even across death. It speaks of how you can survive even when your loved ones are far away, and that you will meet them again.

 _Love can touch us one time and last for a lifetime,_ Celine sings, and Castiel presses as close to Dean as is physically possible. He can feel a quiet rumble from Dean’s chest, and realizes that Dean is humming along to the song to calm Castiel down.

 _You’re here, there’s nothing I fear,_ Celine belts, and Castiel finds himself mouthing along to the words even though he has never heard them before now.

He remembers Gabriel, how even in Heaven, he was one of the brothers that tormented Castiel most with his endless jokes. He remembers how it hurt when he left, how Castiel was so sure they would never meet again. How much it hurt when they _did_ meet again, Gabriel changed into a creature almost unrecognizable, and yet still the playful Archangel Castiel remembered from when he was newly created.

How Gabriel stood up for Castiel, for Dean and Sam. How his face contorted in pain the moment Lucifer stabbed him with his Sword, his mouth forming a word he never got to utter before his Grace was annihilated and he was no more.

Castiel remembers Balthazar, his continued dislike for the Winchesters, Dean especially, even as they found themselves on the same side of the war against Raphael and Crowley. His jokes, often cruel, and pop-cultural references Castiel didn’t understand at the time. How he never judged Castiel for his actions or choices, despite his hatred for Dean, and how he never strayed from Castiel’s side. How he spent his last moment of this existence providing Dean with the weapon to destroy Raphael, before his Grace was snuffed out like a candle. How much the emptiness hurt inside Castiel, even if he only had a minute to feel it before his own Grace was yanked out and smothered by Raphael’s powers.

_You are safe in my heart, and my heart will go on and on._

Castiel lets Dean hold him and cries out his sorrow, his longing for his brothers, his hope that he will go on and that they can meet again. After minutes have gone by, Dean finally lifts Castiel and carries him into their bedroom, stripping him of his clothes as Castiel keeps his eyes closed.

“They were happy, Cas,” Dean murmurs when they’re close again, under the covers. Dean’s skin presses against him in a warm and familiar manner, Dean’s fingers gentle as they trace the scars on Castiel’s back.

Castiel knows Dean means Rose and Jack, but he can’t help but hope it applies to Gabriel and Balthazar as well. He hopes, with every fiber of his being, that wherever they are now, Gabriel and Balthazar are content.

Like he is here, with Dean. With his Jack.

Castiel kisses Dean like he’s afraid there will never be another chance, and Dean lets him take what he needs. When Castiel finally succumbs to exhaustion, Dean hums ‘Stairway to Heaven’ and keeps both arms around Castiel’s form to hold him close.

Castiel puts his hand on Dean’s handprint-shaped scar, remembering the very first moment they met, and imagines that the profound bond they shared as human and angel is still present. And that when Dean and he eventually part from this life, they can meet again and be young and happy together, with their loved ones and without the sorrow and guilt.

Just like Jack and Rose.

~*~


	3. Can You Turn My Power Off?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean’s sick._

Monday is not a good day for Dean. He’s been feeling vaguely nauseous all weekend – body heavy with aching joints, his head pounding. He’d hoped it would blow over, but as he forces his eyes open this morning he knows it didn’t. The light hurts his eyes – the sharp kind of sunlight you only see at seven, eight in the morning – and he squeezes them shut with a small groan. Everything hurts; the pounding in his head has worsened, and every bone and joint in his body aches when he tries to move. He’s feverish and sweating, too warm and too cold, and his throat feels like it’s been raked with fine barbs. He tries to say something and out comes out a dry, raspy cough that won’t subside. He coughs until he’s curled in on himself in the bed, wheezing with the effort. His head is swimming, his nose clogged up.

A hand skims down one of his bare arms, and Dean shivers before making another attempt at opening his eyes. Cas is there, lying on his side right beside him, brows furrowed in worry.

“ ‘mfine,” Dean croaks, and winces at both the sound and how it makes his throat ache. “Cold.”

Cas nods and his hand finds Dean’s forehead. It’s blessedly cool against his skin, and Dean sighs in relief. _Fever_ , Cas signs with his free hand, and Dean nods. Figures.

“I gotta call work, let’em know I’m not comin’ in today.”

Cas nods and slips out of bed to find Dean’s phone. When he comes back, Dean shakes his head.

“Cas, don’t – don’t be here. I’ll get you sick.”

Cas glares and hands him his phone, before lying back down anyway. _Don’t care_ , he signs and presses a little closer, making Dean the smaller spoon for once. Dean doesn’t have the energy to argue. His skin hurts when he shifts under the covers, and even punching in the numbers on his phone is an exhaustive matter. “ ‘ey Tammi,” he croaks.

“You sound like shit, Deanie,” the receptionist says as a manner of greeting. Tammi’s never been of the sugarcoating kind. “You got that bout of cold that’s going around?”

“Got a cold, at any rate,” Dean gets out and then has to cough for half a minute. When he’s done, he’s short of breath and just wants to sleep. “Don’t think I’ll be in today –”

“Are you stupid?” Tammi snorts into the phone, and he can hear the faint sound of fingers tapping against a keyboard. “I’m not letting you into this building. You’re gonna infect the _corpses_ down here. Sleep it off.”

Dean coughs out a dry laugh. “I’ll let you know how goes,” he whispers, his voice giving out on him.

“Just get Cas to send me a text,” she says easily. “And stay away until you’re done phlegming. You sound gross.”

Dean’s lips curl into a tired smile. “Thanks, Tammi.”

“Keep me posted, handsome.” She hangs up.

“We’re good,” Dean mumbles to Cas as he lets the phone slip out of his grasp, too exhausted to hold onto it anymore. Despite himself, he presses his face against Cas’s cool skin; breathing against his angel’s collarbone. Cas’s arms come around him, one of his hands slipping up to press lightly against Dean’s too-hot neck. Dean lets out an appreciative moan. “ ‘fyou could jus’ send Tam a text ev’ry now’n then,” he mumbles sleepily.

Cas nods and turns his head to smile into Dean’s hair. Dean grins at that and shifts a little. He slips off into a restless, fever-induced sleep, and dreams of Cas coming home with purple wings.

When he comes to, bleary and with his head still pounding, the sun outside the window’s already getting low. He realizes he’s alone in bed, and stretches to pop his spine. It feels like someone kicks him in the back as he does, and he groans.

A small shuffling sound, and Dean looks up to see Cas in the doorway. He points towards the kitchen and gives Dean the ‘wait a minute’ sign before disappearing, returning not even a minute later with a tray of food.

“You’re fucking awesome, Cas,” Dean croaks and sits up a little. Cas smiles and puts the tray down on the bedside table before propping some pillows behind Dean’s back. “You didn’t have to make me food,” Dean says and means it. There’s Aspirin and a glass of water, another glass of juice and a plate with four small breakfast pancakes (crabs? creps? scraps? He can’t remember the name) on it. Dean’s not particularly hungry, even though he knows it must have been a long while since he ate, and he feels bad for Cas to waste his cooking skills on someone who won’t appreciate it. Considering how clogged up he is, wheezing and coughing, Dean won’t even be able to taste the food.

But Cas just shakes his head with a smile and sits down on top of the bed, where he usually sleeps. _I can feed you if you’re too sick,_ he signs with a grin.

“Fuck no,” Dean chuckles – or the closest he can get to chuckling, with his throat – and grabs the two pills first. He has to drink the whole glass of water to get them down, his sore throat constricting around the strange substance. Weird, because it’s not like he’s never swallowed painkillers before, but he realizes with a start that it’s been nearly five months since he popped a pill. Huh.

He manages to get down one pancake, but that’s it, and he leans back with a sigh. The Aspirin’s taken the edge off the headache, but he still feels exhausted. He can’t have been up for more than an hour, maximum, but he’s sleepy again already. “ ‘m full, ‘msorry,” he mumbles and squirms his way down so he’s lying again.

 _Don’t be,_ Cas signs and flops down on the bed so they’re face to face. _Sleep._

“Just woke up,” Dean protests, but the fullness of his stomach and the exhaustion is already dragging him under. He blinks sluggishly.

Cas cards his hand through his hair. “You’re pretty awesome, y’know that Cas?” Dean mumbles as his eyes slide closed. He feels Cas’s chuckle more than he hears the wheeze, and grins a little before snuggling close to Cas again. Cas noses at his temple, and Dean falls back asleep.

~*~


	4. But Inside You’re Just a Little Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean and Cas watch Tangled._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the entirety of Tangled.

Dean’s doing the dishes, and cleaning up the living room table and the floor. Their ‘romantic’ dinner (home-made risotto with salad) had turned into a food fight halfway in, and now most of the floor and the table are littered with lettuce and rice. They don’t usually waste food, because, well, it’s a waste. But tonight had been totally worth it, even worth the hour it’s taken Dean to get it clean again.

Besides, Cas’s laughing face when Dean stuffed lettuce down the neck of his shirt was priceless.

Dean finishes up, humming to himself as he works. Cas had wanted to help, but Dean had refused him, seeing as it was totally Dean who’d started it in the first place. It usually is, but it’s always for a good cause.

… Shut up, Cas’s laughing face is totally a good cause.

When he’s done (he had to vacuum the floor to get all the rice) and the table’s once again clean, he flops down in the couch next to Cas. There’s a stack of paperwork on the small table he needs to get through by the end of the week, and he reaches for the first medical journal with a sigh.

Cas, who’s watching a movie, scoots down until he’s using Dean’s thigh as a warm pillow.

“I can’t work with you in the way,” Dean says and does so anyway.

Cas grins up at him before focusing on the movie. There’s still some rice on his nose tip, and Dean flicks it off. He laughs at the annoyed scrunch Cas does with his nose at that; wriggling it a little, like a rabbit.

Balancing the small stack of papers on his free leg, a pen in one hand and the other resting against Cas’s collarbone, fingertips under the hem of the red, old t-shirt, Dean starts writing in names and numbers. It’s time-consuming work, and boring as hell, but not too bad when he gets to have Cas’s furnace-warm body beside him, keeping him company.

Dean glances at the TV and realizes Cas is watching a Disney movie. One of those new ones- Tangle? It’s the Rapunzel one anyway, Dean guesses, since the blond chick’s got hair that’s so long she’s currently using it as a rope to slide down the wall of a really tall tower. Dean snorts a little under his breath when he looks down at Cas; eyes wide with wonder, just like a kid’s. Mouth moving in sync with the characters as they’re singing, the movie sound filling the room from their small TV speakers. Like this, it almost looks like it’s Cas’s voice. Dean wonders, for neither the first or hundredth time, how Cas’s voice would sound as a human. If it would still sound all gravelly and crackling with power, like Castiel’s. Or if it would lighter, easier, like Jimmy’s. Or even rough and used like future Cas’s voice had been.

“Have you seen it before?” Dean asks and skims a finger up Cas’s neck, into the dark tangle of hair there.

Cas shakes his head, eyes still on the screen.

“How’d you know the lyrics?”

Cas shrugs and looks up at him, a small proud smile on his face. _I just do_ , he signs.

“Neat,” Dean concludes, and his angel grins before going back to the movie. Dean keeps up the paperwork, working steadily and without many interruptions. He’s not bothered by the sounds of the movie, or by the singing, really - there’s an air of normality over this, of contentment, that Dean isn’t used to yet. He doesn’t think he can ever be used to it, at least not in the sense that he’ll take it for granted. Instead it calms him, reminds him of a time over thirty (seventy) years ago, of fresh cookies and soft smiles and softer embraces.

Cas’s breathing is slow, his head a comforting weight against Dean’s leg, and Dean finds himself humming along with one of the songs when it feels like the melody is familiar. He realizes it must one of the themes that keep playing throughout the movie, and looks up at the screen to see a drawn sky filled with burning lanterns. The Rapunzel chick and her prince - hero, whatever - are having a disgustingly romantic moment. They’re singing about finding true love, and Dean just _knows_ that Cas eats this shit up like little else. Cas loves love, in all forms. (Probably has to, since he’s living with a dude now and all. Dean still hasn’t asked him what the angels would think about that whole gay thing, not that he cares all that much. Cas was never like them anyway, even with wings and Grace and a voice like rolling thunder.)

He goes back to his work, Cas’s hair sticking to his sweaty palm after resting it on his angel’s neck for the last hour. Dean likes feeling Cas’s breath, his heartbeats. For some odd reason, and though it makes him feel slightly guilty, Dean likes to feel and hear and see all the things that makes Cas human. How his eyelids flutter when he sleeps, how he shuffles out of bed in the morning with bleary eyes and horrible breath. How he flinches if he gets a splinter or a paper cut, how he always eats the crusts on the bread before eating the soft parts, and how he loves digging his fingers into the rich dirt in the garden to get the weed with its roots attached.

He’s so lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t sense the change in Cas’s posture at first. By the time he does, Cas has gone tense beside him; curled in on himself slightly, breath faster and uneven.

“Cas? Hey, you okay?”

Cas nods, jerkily, and doesn’t look away from the screen. He’s trembling, just barely.

Dean looks up at the screen. Oh. _Oh_. “Looks like he’s bleedin’ pretty badly there, Cas,” he says quietly, eyes flickering down to gauge Cas’s reaction.

Cas lets out a sound that’s almost a sob.

The prince-hero-dude’s on the floor, the witch holding a long knife, and the Rapunzel chick is bawling her eyes out. She’s tied up, too, Dean notices, and the witch (who’s kinda hot, actually), cackles. “What a bitch,” Dean mutters, turning slightly. He puts down his paperwork. It’s mostly finished anyway, and he suspects Cas is gonna need some comfort pretty soon. Though it’s Disney, so hopefully it’ll be a happy ending. Dean doesn’t want another Titanic night.

Rapunzel’s striking a bargain with the witch, saying she’ll follow the bitch wherever she goes if she can only heal her loverboy first. “She’s got healing powers?” Dean asks.

Cas nods and grabs his own hair briefly, eyes wide as he follows the proceedings onscreen.

“Ah, the hair. Obviously.” Dean follows the movie in silence for a few minutes, before- “Holy shit, he just cut off her hair.”

Cas goes rigid in the same moment, making a weird, distressed gurgle that would probably be a squawk if he had a voice, and starts to cry.

Watching as Rapunzel turns into a brunette (and she looks ridiculously cute with short, spiky, brown hair, Dean thinks), he grabs Cas and hauls him up in his lap. “Okay, c’mere.”

Cas grips his hand hard, too hard really, and starts sobbing when loverboy onscreen goes slack and Rapunzel starts to sing in between her own wracking sobs.

“Sshhh,” Dean murmurs and holds his quivering boyfriend close, feeling him tremble. “ S’only a movie, Cas. S’okay.”

Cas sobs but doesn’t look away from the screen. Rapunzel’s crying, but not as hard as Cas, which Dean would probably find really funny if it didn’t upset him so much. A few of the tears drip down on loverboy’s cheeks, and gets absorbed. Ah, there we go. “Look, Cas.” Good old Disney.

Cas sends him a panicked look that Dean’s used to see on five-year olds, an ‘are you _sure_ there’s no monster under the bed?’ kind of expression.

“Yeah, it’ll be okay,” Dean answers the unspoken question. “Look, I think she’s healin’ him. In the original fairytale, the prince was blinded and Rapunzel healed his eyes with her tears. Of course, she’d also been walkin’ around the desert for two years and had twins, so they’re not quite going for the original.”

Cas lets out a shaky almost-laugh and rubs away the tears on his face. He jumps a little with excitement when loverboy opens his eyes and the couple kisses.

“See? Told ya so.” He nuzzles against Cas’s hair, and his angel turns to give him a bruising kiss. Dean chuckles against Cas’s mouth and tries to calm him down, slowing and turning the kiss gentle instead of desperate.

Dean’s pretty sure Cas starts crying a little again when Rapunzel gets back her parents (she was a lost princess, go figure) and marries her loverboy, and there’s dancing and singing and happily ever after. Dean doesn't say anything, though, just watches Cas as he stares at the big screen, once again wide-eyed and happy.

“You’re such a fucking goof,” Dean says when the credits start rolling, and pulls Cas close because he just looks too damn adorable not to give a hug. Cas huffs and squirms in his arms, but not to get away. He just turns so he can slide both hands around Dean’s waist, giving him some sort of strange hug where he half-sits, half-lies on their couch. Dean chuckles and holds him, as Cas buries his face in Dean’s flannel t-shirt and breathes in deeply.

“Chill, Cas. It was a happy ending n’all.”

Cas peeks up at Dean to give him a watery smile, one arms slipping free to sign at him. _I like happy endings._

There’s subtext there, Dean thinks, a shitload of subtext and he doesn’t mind it. Not at all. “I know you do, baby,” he murmurs and kisses him. And again. And again.

~*~


	5. Stars That Burn the Brightest (Spark Like Empty Lighters)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Cas has a nightmare and Dean hums ‘Hey Jude’._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: angst, nightmares, and conflicting feelings towards scarring.

Cas is screaming.

There is no sound, nothing to alarm Dean and wake him up, but he does anyway. Because he just knows Cas is screaming. Can feel it. "Cas? Cas!"

His angel's eyes are closed, mouth open in a soundless scream, only a weak hissing noise heard as he presses all the air out of his lungs. His whole body's rigid under the covers, trembling, and his chest rises and falls rapidly.

"Cas! Wake up, man!" He nudges Cas sharply to wake him up, and it does work - Cas's eyes fly open and he jolts up, but instead of calming down, he only gets more agitated. He keeps opening and closing his mouth, undoubtedly speaking but not being able to make a sound. He's staring at Dean, but there's no recognition in his eyes. Only terror.

"Cas, hey," Dean tries again, gentler now, but Cas thrashes and twists until he gets caught up in the sheets and falls out of the bed with a hard thump. His head slams into the nightstand as he falls, and then he's quiet.

The quiet scares Dean. It scares the shit out of him. He's out of bed in a second, crouching by his angel on the floor. "Cas, shit, are you okay?"

Cas blinks sluggishly and moves his lips again, and Dean can see he's crying now. He's crying. Dean doesn't know whether it's from pain or from the dream.

"Cas, baby, I need you to sign for me. Are. You. Okay." He holds Cas's face gently between his own hands and tries to catch his gaze. Cas is a bit cross-eyed.

Finally Dean's words seems to register, and Cas lifts a hand to sign a quick _I'm okay, hurt my head_. He tries to sit up, and cringes. Dean can almost hear the mental whimper.

"Okay, okay. Let's get you up. Lemme take a look at you." He turns on the bedside lamp and helps Cas into a sitting position, leaning him forward until his head rests against Dean's shoulder. He slowly, gently feels at the back of Cas's head with the tips of his fingers, and stops when he reaches a bump and Castiel flinches again. It's not bleeding. It's a small bump already, and it's gonna get bigger, but it's no big deal.

Dean tells himself that a couple of more times, just to make his heart rate go down a little. Cas is fine. It's no big deal. "It's fine. C'mon, let's get you back up."

Cas gets up by himself, and crawls back under the covers. As soon as he's settled, he wipes furiously at his face to erase all signs of the tears. Dean, slipping in beside him, catches his hands to stop him. "Hey, hey. 'S okay. Don’t worry about it. Bad dream again?"

Castiel sighs and nods, before nudging at Dean as a signal for him to lie down on his back. Dean does, and Cas lies down with his head on Dean's chest. One arm’s curled protectively around himself, the other one over the blankets so he can talk.

"You wanna tell me about it?" Dean asks. It's easier for Cas sometimes, Dean knows, to talk about this if he's not facing Dean. Instead Cas is facing the window, their pear tree barely visible as a shadow behind the closed curtains. Slowly, hesitantly, Cas's hand starts moving.

"That one again, huh," Dean murmurs and leans forward so he can kiss Cas on the top of his head, careful to miss the bump. Cas nods and curls his hand into a fist. Dean sighs. It's been weeks since Cas last had a nightmare about the day he Fell, but it always returns. And every time he wakes up, for a moment he's back to that same Cas they woke up after Raphael left. The Cas that tried to speak and started thrashing about wildly when he found that he couldn't. The Cas they couldn't communicate to, the one that - when the initial shock subsided - went into himself and refused to eat, sleep, do anything. Who began to eat again only because Dean literally force-fed him while . It had been the worst weeks of Dean's life. And of Cas's life too, he would presume.

"You wanna talk about it anyway?" Dean asks now, voice quiet in the small bedroom. Cas shakes his head resolutely, in a way that tells Dean that yeah, he wants to talk about it. He just needs a little time.

"Okay then," Dean says, and gives it to him. Concentrates on keeping his breathing slow and calm, so that Cas can mirror it. Keeps one hand in Cas's hair, dragging his fingers through it, avoiding the sore area where he hit the bedside table. Cas is still tense, and the occasional hiccup-breaths he takes makes Dean suspect he's still crying.

That had been another thing to get used to; Cas wears his heart on a sleeve. He laughs easily, he cries easily. Dean had to soothe him when Cas had seen the Notebook, and he was inconsolable after watching Love Story. It's something Dean makes fun of after Cas is done crying, because he doesn't really know how else to deal with it. It's not like he's gonna tell Cas to shut his hole and suck it up, like his Dad would.

At last, just when Dean's eyes are starting to get heavy, Cas's hand starts moving again. He tells Dean the dream, as much as he remembers, and it’s close enough to the truth that Dean can imagine the dream pretty well. The scars on Cas's back, what little of them are visible above the covers, almost glisten in the dim lamp light. They look inflamed, but they always will. The ridges are standing out from the rest of Cas's skin, making a pattern on his back not unlike a tree's roots. Like an angel's Grace and wings are something entwined with its vessel like some sort of growth. Cas hates the scars with a fiery passion, and Dean doesn't blame him. But Dean is... well, he's not glad they're there, because they're as much a constant reminder of the pain and humiliation Cas was put through, as a sign of his humanity and frailty. But they're also like a map of Cas's journey, and that journey ultimately landed him here. With Dean.

So he can't bring himself to hate them.

Cas finishes his story - always the same. The only difference between the dream and the reality is that in the dream, Cas is alone. And when Raphael leaves, with a sneer and a 'enjoy humanity, _brother_ ', no one is there to help him. He's alone, bleeding and hurting, mute and mortal. And Dean knows it's the 'alone' part that scares Cas the most.

Dean starts humming 'Hey Jude' and lets a hand trace the scars, like he always does when Cas has this nightmare. And as always Cas goes rigid at the first touch, before he makes himself relax. He turns and shifts, though, until he's lying almost fully on top of Dean. He lifts his head, and Dean can see traces of salt under his eyes. He brushes them away with his thumb, and Cas's eyes flutter shut for a moment. He lets out a sharp exhale. _I feel,_ he signs.

"You feel what?" Dean asks, one hand resting between Cas's shoulder blades. The skin there is always warmer than the rest of Cas's body. Dean doesn't know why. Suspects it might be remains of Grace, clinging to Cas's mortal body. He wonders if Cas can feel it, but doesn’t ask.

Cas's brows furrows, and he hesitates before signing the next word. _Less._

"You feel less?" Dean asks, and Cas's face takes on that frustrated, pinched look that Dean has come to call the 'I hate your stupid mortal language and its insufficient vocabulary' expression.

 _I feel like so much less than I were._ He looks away.

Dean sighs and wonders how to respond. He's not good with words. "Well, yeah," he finally says. "You kind of are."

Cas blinks up at him with something too much like hurt.

"You're still better than I’ve ever deserved, so," Dean continues and shrugs a little, sending his cheeks an annoyed thought at how they decide to warm up under the angel's gaze.

Cas looks confused for a moment. Then he starts blinking rapidly, eyes once again filling with tears, and with an annoyed huff he hides his face against Dean's neck.

Dean chuckles as his angel sniffles into his shoulder. "You're such a girl, Cas," he murmurs and puts both arms around him, keeps him close. He smells Cas's hair because it always smells good, has never stopped smelling Angel of the Lord, and Cas lifts a hand to sign _you are incorrigible_.

Dean laughs.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naturally, the song quotes in this chapter are from 'Hey Jude', by The Beatles.


	6. Looking For the Golden Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where there is gardening and shower sex._

It's a Wednesday, which means no hospital, no morgue, just seven hours of repairing cars and then the whole evening with Cas to himself. So he's a little bummed to come home to an empty house.

He checks the rooms anyway, because if they thought Cas was quiet and stealthy as an angel, it's _nothing_ like he is now. Dean doesn't know where Cas is unless he has him in eyesight - something Cas likes to take advantage of in creative ways. (Dean curses the day Sam told Cas about prank wars.) He's about to get himself a beer and maybe watch some TV, when he walks past the living room window and sees a dark mess of hair in one of their rose bushes. Dean grins. Of course.

He steps out of the house and walks around to see his angel weeding out the chrysanthemum beds with all his might and concentration. It's an incredibly endearing sight: Cas covered in dirt, panting from the effort and the July heat, wearing one of Dean's half-ruined t-shirts and jeans. The jeans are a little too big, and hang so low on Cas's slim hips he's almost mooning their neighbors. Dean can see a slight tan line, just above the waistline of the jeans, from where the sun's been beating down on Cas's back all summer. Cas has a tan for the first time in existence; even got sunburned a couple of weeks ago. Dean had to rub aloe vera lotion on Cas's neck, which could have been a pretty erotic experience if not for the fact that it was a pretty bad sunburn and Cas was actually in pain.

Dean walks over to him now, knowing that Cas hasn't noticed him yet. He's too enveloped in his work, removing every weed between the white flowers so thoroughly it borders on obsession. "I like it," Dean states when he's right behind Cas, blatantly staring at his ass instead of the flowers.

Cas jumps a little, and turns with a mock-glare to give Dean the finger. When Dean laughs he gets up, dusts off his grimy jeans and steps forward to kiss Dean. Cas has never been wary of showing affection in public, and Dean's learning to adjust to that. Castiel nuzzles his nose against Dean’s cheek and holds him close, before pointing at the flowers and grinning.

"They're real pretty, Cas," Dean agrees. "You did a good job." While he doesn't share Cas's interest for botanical life, he does understand the value of keeping something clean and immaculate. So he doesn't give Cas much shit for it. Only a little. Because there is gay, and there is picking flowers from the garden to put on the living room table.

 _Do you want to go inside?_ Cas signs, but Dean shakes his head.

"Nah, I'm good. I'll just sit here for a while and stare at you."

Cas flops down onto the grass and immediately gets back to work. He's barefoot, like he usually is, his soles rough and hardened from walking without shoes all summer. Even when going to the grocery store, Cas leaves his shoes at home. He learned the hard way not to take longer trips barefoot, though, so Dean doesn't say anything about it. (But as soon as it's fall and the temperature drops, the shoes are on. No discussion.)

Dean sits down too and leans against the house wall, closing his eyes to feel the afternoon sun on his face. It's quiet here; always quiet. When they first moved to this neighborhood, Dean had trouble sleeping because of it. Too quiet, too... normal. It's taken a long time for him to let his guard down here. He still feels sometimes like he's just waiting to wake up, to find that this was just another djinn messing with his head. To find that Cas is dead and the war in Heaven's still going, that he and Sam are not okay, that Bobby is gone, that Dean is still fighting but with no one left to fight _for_. Cas finds him surprisingly often when he has these moods, Dean's realized.

Even now, Cas lifts his head and peers over at him, head tilted questioningly.

"Just thinkin', Cas," Dean sighs and sends him a smile.

 _Don't hurt yourself,_ Cas signs, and Dean laughs a little extra because Cas has been trying so hard to understand humor. There are things he finds instinctively funny - like the teasing going on between Dean and Sam, or the gags on TV where people get cake thrown in their faces, but he still struggles with some concepts. Sarcasm and irony. Appropriate humor at appropriate times. Though Dean is the master of inappropriate humor, so Cas has probably been taught all wrong, but Dean doesn't care. He just likes to see Cas smile.

Cas stands up and walks over to him, and flops down so he can rest his head in Dean's lap for a while. His skin is covered with a fine sheen of sweat mixed with the dirt, and his black Def Leppard t-shirt is too hot for this weather, but Dean doesn't say anything about it. Cas barely lets him see the scars in bed, at night, with the lights off. It will probably take years before Cas will be comfortable wearing them outside where everyone can see. If it ever happens.

_Have you ever had pear pie?_

Dean snorts. "No, I haven't. Why?"

_We have pears. You like pie._

"So do you." He ruffles Cas's grimy hair just to annoy Cas, and the other man swats his hand away.

_I might try baking one._

"That sounds awesome," Dean agrees. "I'll help if you wanna."

 _You can make dinner._ Cas sits up and looks at his filthy hands, scrunches his nose. _I need a shower,_ he signs.

Dean smirks. "You need help with that too?"

 _Hardly,_ Castiel signs back, but he grabs a hold of Dean's shirt and drags him with him anyway.

They shed each other's clothes in the bathroom, working quickly. It's still new to them, this- this. After Cas Fell, two months went by before they first kissed. And even after then, the issue of Cas adapting to humanity seemed bigger than Dean's (and Cas’s, they later found out) blue balls. So there's still that thrill every time for Dean when they do this- that they _can_ do this.

Fallen or not, Dean still feels a little blasphemous whenever he fucks Cas.

They step under the shower, crammed together because really, this is not a two-man space, and Dean soaps in Cas's hair because he knows Cas loves that. Cas opens his mouth a little and closes his eyes, lets himself be handled while Dean massages his scalp. Cas's fingers trail up and down his chest, sides, arms, always exploring. Always curious.

Dean pushes Cas under the spray of hot water and the fallen angel splutters indignantly, swallowing a gulp of water before he remembers to close his mouth. Dean laughs, but makes sure Cas doesn't get soap in his eyes when he showers the shampoo off. Cas starts soaping up his body, but Dean pushes his hands away to rub his hands over Cas himself. When he reaches Cas's abdomen his movements grow gentler, slower, and when he starts stroking Cas, the angel lets out a breathy little huff.

_I don't think th_

"It counts as cleaning, Cas," Dean cuts him off and grins, and presses his lips against his angel's. "Or do you want me to stop? 'Cause I can, if you want me to."

Cas steps back, letting the soap wash off, and his smile turns into a mischievous smirk. He pushes at Dean's shoulders until the ex-hunter goes down on his knees, and Dean snorts.

"Oh, so that's how it is, then? You gonna boss me around?"

Castiel's smirk widens and he makes a whipping gesture.

Dean leans in to lick at Cas's clean inner thigh, feeling the man tremble lightly against him. "You totally learned that one from Sam."

A sharp tug on his hair, and when Dean looks up Cas glares at him. _No Sam during sex._

Dean chuckles.

Cas keeps a hand in his hair. It's a way for them to communicate; if Cas needs to say something he'll tug and Dean will look up. (Plus, Dean has a thing for Cas tugging at his hair, and Cas knows this.)

Dean keeps a hand on Cas's hip and pushes him gently. The angel hisses when his back hits the cold wall. "Sorry," Dean murmurs and isn't sorry at all, and the way Cas's nails dig lightly into his scalp tells him that Cas knows that as well. He kisses a trail along Cas's abdomen as an apology, and gets a little sigh in return.

"You smell like the flowerbed outside," Dean chuckles and looks up in time to see Cas rolling his eyes.

_Is that bad?_

"Nope. Not at all, actually." And then he takes Cas whole into his mouth without warning, feeling the angel buckle against him. Cas's fingers tighten instinctively as Dean bobs his head, one hand around the base. The water is making everything wet and sloppy, and when he starts humming around Castiel's cock, the other man gasps.

Dean sucks harder, the thumb on Cas's hip rubbing in soothing circles. He loves the small sounds Cas makes when they have sex- he's quiet, yeah, but not soundless. Small puffs of air, tiny gasps- Dean loves to force it out of the angel, make Cas's eyes roll back in his head. He swivels his tongue around the head, and Cas makes a broken noise in the back of his throat. It's almost a 'k' but not quite, and every time he makes it Dean knows he's close.

He pulls off to give Cas a few rough strokes, sucking a bruise on the angel's hip. "C'mon, baby." Then he takes the tip of Cas's cock back into his mouth and presses the tip of his tongue against the slit.

Another strangled gasp and Cas is coming down Dean's throat, the angel's fingers gripping Dean's hair so hard it hurts. But it's a good kind of pain, Dean's used to it, and he hardly flinches at all. He pulls off so he can keep Cas upright when the angel's legs give out on him. Cas always goes boneless when he comes down from an orgasm, and this time is no different - Cas slumps against him, and Dean snorts a laugh.

"Okay, remind me again why I agree to do this in the shower? Now I gotta carry you to the bed and all."

Castiel snorts and kisses him on the shoulder, before raising one hand curled into a fist. He stretches out his pinky, index finger and thumb, and keeps it like that.

"Shut up, Cas," Dean murmurs and closes his own hand gently around Cas's wrists. "I love you too. Now let's get you out of here, you giant girl."

Cas gives him just the middle finger this time, but that's okay because it's easier to deal with. They stumble out of the bathroom, still half-wet, and into the bedroom like a couple of teenagers. Cas pushes him down on the bed and straddles him. _First blowjob,_ he signs with a sly smirk, _then pie._

Dean fucking _loves_ Wednesdays.

~*~


	7. A Week Without a Day When Things Are Pretty Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Castiel visits Dean at work and absolutely nothing else happens._

Castiel steps onto the bus and pays, before finding a seat at the very back. Where he can see the rest of the passengers on the bus; listen to their conversations, watch how they act. The mystery of humans continues to entrance him, even when he is one of them.

The bus ride takes fifteen minutes, and by the time they arrive at Castiel's stop, he's already a little nauseous. Castiel gets easily carsick- apart from the Impala, Castiel gets ill almost every time he uses the bus, a train, tube or boat. He supposes he would feel the same if he were to travel by plane, but he doubts he will ever find out. Not that he feels a particular need to- since he lost his Wings, he's felt inclined to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground.

It is strange, that he should be afraid of such mundane things. He has watched humans evolve since their beginning, watched the Earth evolve with them. Although mortal, weak, Castiel has not lost his knowledge. It is there, lodged within his brain, but he cannot access all of it at once. Human brains are not supposed to hold all the information in the Universe, and thus Castiel cannot keep every memory upfront in his mind. He has to compartmentalize, as Dean puts it, so the memories don't overwhelm him in their sheer magnitude. It's exhausting at times, and gives him strong headaches. And it makes him feel clumsy, like the lack of knowledge at the tip of his tongue somehow makes him stupid.

Castiel knows many of the people he meets briefly believe he is dumb, or mentally disabled. Dean always gets enraged when he learns about that, so Castiel rarely tells him. He prefers it when Dean is smiling.

He steps off the bus and walks briskly, shoes on his feet today. Castiel doesn't particularly like shoes, finds them containing- more so than clothes- but he has found out what happens if he walks too long a distance without them, and so now he resigns himself to using them at times. He has a shoulder-bag slung over one shoulder, and he grips it tightly so he won't lose it. Castiel loves this bag- it is made of dark leather and smells like old craftsmanship. Each wrinkle in the leather tells a story, and Castiel loves skimming his fingers over them and imagine how each of them came to be. It has all the things he needs in it- a wallet, complete with his own false identification card and real credit card. (He shares a bank account with Dean, because Dean insists on Castiel handling his own money.) There is a notebook in the bag, one Castiel writes or draws in whenever he feels so inclined. The bag also holds the keys to his own house, a cell phone, a pack of Twizzlers, a blue pen, a black marker and a small whiteboard pad. Castiel uses the whiteboard to communicate with people who don't understand sign language. It is a time-consuming affair, but Castiel doesn't mind as much as he used to. The people he usually speaks to are Dean and Sam, who both know sign language, so he doesn't have to use the whiteboard so often.

In his other hand he carries a small paper carton in a plastic bag. It contains Castiel's first successful pear pie- the two first had not come out quite right. Dean is at work, so Castiel wants to surprise him. It's 12.05 in the early afternoon, and twenty minutes to Dean's lunch break. Castiel has not been to the morgue before, but he is good with maps and signs, so he finds his way quickly enough. His neck feels stiff and he rubs it absentmindedly, but tries to ignore it. Since he turned human, rarely a moment goes by without there being _something_ that hurts or bothers him with this- his- body.

He walks into the small hospital and follows the various signs, until he reaches the floor where the morgue is. There is a reception desk there, with a small, round woman sitting behind it. Her pink hair is made into a loose ponytail, and although she is clearly in her late forties, she still has a lip ring and a t-shirt with a picture of Hannah Montana on it. Castiel finds himself instantly taking a liking to this woman.

"Can I help you?" she asks when he steps forward, and gives him a quick, but not unkind, smile.

Castiel takes out his whiteboard before tapping his fingers lightly against his Adam's apple to signalize that he can't speak. He smiles.

"Oh, okay," she says and turns more fully towards him. A positive with speaking to hospital personnel, Castiel thinks, is that they usually understand him quite well even though he cannot speak.

 _Dean Winchester?_ he writes on his whiteboard and shows her.

"He works here, yeah," she nods again and looks briefly at her computer. "I'm sorry sir, but I have to ask for your name. We can't just send everybody in there."

Castiel nods and writes his name.

"Okay, hang on a minute and I'll check if he's available, Mister Winchester." Another smile, this one kinder- and more knowing- than the previous ones. She lifts her phone and presses three buttons- 7, 7, 4- before tapping her fingers absently against her desk while she waits for someone to pick up. "Yeah, is this Winchester? I have one Cas Winchester waiting for you here, should I- yeah, that's what- okay, sure. Bye." She hangs up and nods towards one of the blue, closed doors leading out of the room. "Sure, go ahead, Mister Winchester. He's in room 774- third door on the left." She winks at him before going back to her computer.

He wipes off the words on the whiteboard in a practiced motion, before writing _thank you_ and showing her.

"Aw, it's nothing," she says and waves him off, but she looks pleased at the display of politeness. Castiel likes being polite; he finds, naturally, that people are much more inclined to assist him when he is polite. Though it is baffling how many people don't show him the same courtesy in return.

He feels out of place, like a trespasser, when he walks down the corridor. It's white and pleasant enough in here, but there is still an aura of death Castiel cannot quite place. Maybe not so strange, since he is in a morgue, but the feeling is stronger than it usual is in these places. Castiel feels things sometimes- not enough that he could call himself a psychic, but enough to pick up thoughts and emotions. Usually he does so from Dean, or sometimes Sam. Naturally, because these are the people he loves most. But occasionally he will feel something about a person he doesn't know, or a place. Like now. Castiel has learned to shrug it off, as Dean puts it, and keep it to the back of his mind.

Someone bumps into him- a man rolling a steel stretcher. There is a body on it, hidden under a white sheet, but Castiel sees the toe with a name tag attached to it. "Oy!" the man says and sends him an annoyed glare. "Watch where you're going, newbie!"

Castiel wants to write _I'm sorry_ on his board, but before he has time to, the man has disappeared around a corner. Castiel sighs.

The door to room 774 is closed, so Castiel knocks and waits patiently. Immediately he can hear footsteps, and then Dean is opening the door and grinning back at him.

"Cas!" he says, eyes perfectly happy and twinkling, just like Castiel wants them to always be. "What're you doing here, man?" He pulls Castiel into a hug and kisses his cheek.

 _I thought I would surprise you,_ Castiel signs and holds out the plastic bag.

"With what?" Dean says and immediately grabs the bag, before stepping back from the door. "C'mon in, by the way. It's only me in here right now."

It is a small office, with several chairs spread out around a desk in seemingly no pattern. The desk is filled with dirty coffee cups, papers, an ash tray and a basket containing two muffins. The coffee cups are all named, and Castiel notices a red one that has 'Dean W.' written on it in black, thin letters. In the corner of the tiny room is another chair, this one with a coffee machine balanced on it.

"This is the break room," Dean explains and sits down, offering Castiel a seat before placing the plastic bag on the table. "What'd you make?"

Castiel doesn't sign anything, just places his hands delicately in his lap and watches Dean pull out the carton. He enjoys watching Dean opening presents- even if they are small and homemade, Dean's eyes always lights up like a child's when he sees what is inside.

" _Pie,_ ” Dean groans when he opens the carton, and an appreciative groan makes its way out of his throat. Castiel grins. "Fuck, Cas- did you make this from scratch?"

 _Pear pie,_ Castiel signs proudly. _Better than the two first ones._

"But those were _good_ pies," Dean points out, wide-eyed, and stares down at the large piece of pie.

Castiel rolls his eyes. _EAT._

Not needing to be asked twice, Dean scrambles to find a clean fork in one of the desk drawers before shoving a very big bite into his mouth. His cheeks bob out almost obscenely, that's how full his mouth is, and Castiel knows that if Sam were here he would chastise Dean for not having manners. As it is, it pleases Castiel that Dean is so desperate for his baked goods.

Dean makes another groan, this one reminding Castiel of the noises Dean makes when they have sex. _It's not that good._

Dean glares at him, as if he takes it as a personal insult. "Not good?" he says, voice thick with pie, and stabs some more of it with his fork. He holds it out in front of Castiel's mouth, one eyebrow raised.

_I'm not hu_

"EAT, Cas," Dean cuts him off and grins. With a huff, Castiel indulges him. He tasted the pie at home, so he knows it tastes good. But Dean stands up to close the door, before he sits back down to put a hand on Castiel's neck. "Don't like an audience," Dean mutters before he leans in.

Castiel often wonders how it would have felt to kiss Dean while he was still an Angel of the Lord. When he could still feel, taste, see, smell everything all at once. It seems logical to presume that when kissing Dean feels amazing with only Castiel's limited human senses, it would be extraordinary to experience as an angel. It is not something he has come to terms with yet, but he tries.

Dean tilts his head to the side so he can lick the traces of pie out of Castiel's mouth, and makes another sound of contentment. His fingers drag through Castiel's hair, and Castiel sighs in pleasure.

Reluctantly, Dean pulls away. "Listen, I've gotta go back to work in ten minutes. But if you wanna have a walk or something, I could meet you at that little café by the post office you like?"

 _La Petite Rouge?_ Castiel asks and smiles hopefully. It is a small, French café, and they have their own bakery. The chef there enjoys talking to Castiel, and sometimes gives him tips on baking. (He was the one who solved Castiel's pear pie problem- more pear, more whipped cream- and Castiel is very grateful.)

"Yeah, that one. I've got-" Dean glances down at his watch, "three more hours here. If you wanna, you can go to the gallery or something?"

Castiel nods, although he probably won't. He enjoys simply walking around, with no destination in mind. It is a new experience, like so much else, to have nothing he must do. No orders to follow or rebel against. Just walking, thinking, being.

Dean drags his thumb across Castiel's lower lip before licking it. "Crumbles," he says as if in apology, but his eyes are twinkling.

 _I bet,_ Castiel responds and leans forward to steal one more kiss. Dean chuckles into his mouth before pushing him back.

"Greedy," he says and drags Castiel over to the door. "Now get outta here. I can't focus when there's you and pie nearby."

Castiel waggles his eyebrow the way he sometimes sees Dean do, and it earns him a bout of surprised laughter from Dean. Then he's walking back where he came from, signing a quick _see you later_ to Dean as he walks, and Dean nods with a grin before disappearing back into the break room.

Castiel waves to the receptionist, who takes one look at Castiel before smirking knowingly.

It's a bit chilly outside, so Castiel pulls his jacket- who used to be Dean's- tighter around himself. He walks around aimlessly for a while, before he finds himself in the tiny park in the town and sits down on a bench there. After a moment's hesitation, he takes out his notebook and starts sketching.

It's Dean he draws. Whenever Castiel tries to draw something, it has an odd tendency to come out as Dean. Or Wings. Sometimes he tries to draw what Grace would look like to a pair of human eyes, but he never manages to capture it.

The hours tick slowly away, the temperature sinks, and Castiel ends up jogging to La Petite Rouge because he forgot the time. He often does. The chef greets him with a kind hello, and Castiel waves back. It's late August, and Castiel has been human for half a year.

The thought doesn't scare him as much as it used to.

~*~


	8. Pressure Overwhelming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean growled at a waiter and Cas is not amused._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Jealous!Dean.

Cas slams the front door shut after them, and Dean winces. He knows he’s in a shitload of trouble. “Cas –”  
  
Cas gives him a glare so potent Dean’s tongue withers, and he stays silent while Cas stomps into their living room and grabs one of the books he’s reading at the moment. He sits down in the couch and opens the book (The History of the Tang Dynasty) on a seemingly-random page, still so angry he’s practically seething, and Dean can see that he’s fake-reading. His eyes aren’t moving at all – he’s just glowering at the page, his face and jaw set.  
  
“Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean tries.  
  
 _No, you’re not,_ Cas signs without looking at him.  
  
“Course I am, Cas –”  
  
 _DON’T lie to me,_ Cas signs and his eyes flash dangerously when he finally looks at Dean.  
  
Dean sinks down in the chair on the other side of their small table – doesn’t dare to sit down next to Cas right now. “Okay, so I’m not sorry. I was completely reasonable, Cas.”  
  
 _Reasonable?!_ Cas signs and huffs a laugh. His signing is overstated, his movements too big, giving Dean the feeling that he’s shouting. It’s not the first time, but it freaks him out a little anyway. _You went alpha-male on that poor waiter!_  
  
“Did not!”  
  
Cas points his finger at him and it’s trembling, that’s how angry Cas is, and okay, Dean’s just gonna be quiet for now. Just until Cas calms down. _I am NOT yours to protect and possess._  
  
“I know th –”  
  
Cas gives him a ‘did I give you permission to speak’ look, and Dean pipes down again. _Am I your possession, Dean?_  
  
“… no.”  
  
 _Then you would do well not to act like I am._ Cas picks up the book again.  
  
Dean waits, but his boyfriend doesn’t say anything. “He was just so… flirty.”  
  
Cas rolls his eyes. _Your jealousy is not my concern._  
  
“He was stripping you naked with his eyes, Cas!” Dean barks, remembering how the waiter’s eyes kept lingering on Cas’s ass and smile. It makes his skin crawl just thinking about it. He wishes he’d clocked that guy in the jaw; that’d teach him.  
  
Cas snaps his fingers, and Dean’s jolted out of his head. _Do you not trust me?_  
  
“What? Of course I do, Cas. That’s not what this is about.”  
  
 _It’s exactly what this is about._ Cas puts down the book and sighs, his anger bleeding out of him only to be replaced with something else; something sadder. Something hurt. Dean finds himself wishing Cas would be angry again – angry is better than this. _To me, there are two options._ He raises one finger. _Either you don’t trust me to remain faithful, or,_ and he gives Dean two fingers, _you believe that even if I declined, this man would have his way with me anyway. Neither of those are flattering._  
  
“Cas, that’s not – I do trust you,” Dean says, because that’s the truth. He doesn’t believe for a second that Cas would cheat on him. He’s _Cas_. “And I – I don’t think you’re weak, either. I’m just…” he stares down at his hands, unsure how to continue.  
  
Cas stays silent and unmoving opposite of him, one hand still holding his book. Dean knows he’s glaring at him, which okay, he might have a reason to. It was maybe not entirely necessary of Dean to blow up in that guy’s face. “I’m – I don’t get things, Cas,” he finally says and looks up. Cas still looks angry, but there’s a frown on his face that’s almost curious, and that’s better than a minute earlier. “Like, stuff like this? I don’t get to have that. A house, a job, a steady income, friends, Sammy safe… you. Winchesters don’t _get_ the things we really want. It’s part of the family business – or family curse, depending on how you see it, I guess.”  
  
Cas’s eyes grow a fraction fonder, but he doesn’t move. Dean feels itchy, like his skin’s too tight. It’s a feeling he’s getting used to here; that feeling that all this is gonna disappear in a puff of smoke. “I keep – I keep thinking I’m gonna wake up one day, and this is all a dream, or the work of a djinn or something, and that you’ll be… gone.”  
  
 _That doesn’t give you the right to own me,_ Cas signs, but he’s not shout-signing anymore and that’s something.  
  
“I know, I know. I just…” Dean takes a deep breath. “I’m afraid it’s all an illusion, and that someone’s gonna come along and pop it. I don’t think I could go back to the way it was before, Cas. Not after… not after I’ve known what this is like.” He makes a vague gesture between the two of them and hopes Cas gets what he’s babbling on about.  
  
Cas sighs and pats the seat next to him. Dean shuffles over to the couch and sits down gingerly. Cas turns his face towards him and gives Dean a soft kiss, before he yanks painfully at Dean’s hair. “Ow!”  
  
 _See?_ Cas signs. _Not dreaming._ He’s not smiling; his eyes are serious, but his hand on Dean’s neck is gentle and soothing.  
  
“I know,” Dean mumbles against Cas’s lips, tracing the ghost of a smile there. “I just forget sometimes. Part of the ‘if it seems too good to be true, it is’ routine Dad taught me.”  
  
Cas nods. He presses their foreheads together and they close their eyes, reveling in the feeling of _realness_ surrounding them.  
  
“I’m sorry I growled at the waiter,” Dean says quietly, and he can almost hear how Cas’s mouth twists up at the corners. He opens his eyes so he can see what Cas signs.  
  
 _I forgive you._ Cas blinks his eyes open and smiles, before growing serious once again. _But if you ever do that again, I will smite you._  
  
Dean swallows and tries to imagine how Cas would do that without his powers. He has no doubt he could. “I won’t. Promise.”  
  
 _Good._ Cas presses their nose tips together, and his hand on Dean’s neck moves in deliberate, small circles. Tugs a little on his hair, in that way he knows makes Dean go crazy. Good crazy. _Now, make love to me._  
  
“Jesus, Cas, you’re so fucking corny,” Dean mutters and grimaces, even if his whole body’s starting to hum.  
  
 _Fine,_ Cas signs and mouths ‘fuck me’ instead, one eyebrow arched.  
  
It sends spikes of heat all the way down Dean’s spine. “That a challenge, Cas?”  
  
 _Definitely_.  
  


~*~


	9. Melt Slowly To The Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Castiel is asleep on the couch._

“Hey Cas, I’m home,” Dean says to the hallway, not expecting an answer. He toes of his shoes and shrugs off his jacket, before hanging it neatly up on the side of the door. When he gets into the living room, he stops.  
  
Cas is lying on the couch, half-sprawled, on his side. He’s curled up with his favorite beige wool blanket underneath him, one hand fisted in it. His eyes are closed, his mouth open, face and body slack the way they only ever are when Cas is asleep. The TV’s still on, and there’s a book lying on the floor, pages curled, that tells Dean Cas was reading before he fell asleep. The thick-rimmed glasses Cas uses when he reads are squished against his face, making red lines around his eyes and nose. His face is half-buried in the soft cushion, a small dribble of drool on the couch. His hair, unruly on the best of days, is completely flat on one side and stands out in spikes on the other.   
  
Dean’s mouth curls into a smile and he walks quietly over. He turns off the TV and the lamp, before just standing there for a while, watching his angel. Cas frowns in his sleep when the TV gets turned off, but doesn’t wake up. He squirms a little and lets out a sigh, before going slack again. Dean is torn- Cas looks so peaceful here, he doesn’t want to disturb him. He could find another couple of blankets to cover him up with, watch Cas squirm and grab those blankets instead, and just let him sleep. Cas would sleep until morning, Dean’s sure about it. He’s a heavy sleeper.  
  
Then again, he could still get cold here. And sometimes Cas’s back hurts him, Dean knows that. So he should probably wake Cas up and get him to come to bed; get stretched out properly so his neck won’t suffer in the morning. But Dean doesn’t want to wake him; not now. He sits down on their sturdy living room table and cards a hand gently through Cas’s hair.  
  
Cas huffs and turns slightly, presses against the contact even in his sleep. It’s only for a second, before he goes quiet again, but it’s enough to make Dean’s heart flutter. Not that Dean will ever tell anyone that, ever. And sappy as it sounds; he doesn’t want to sleep alone in the bedroom, with Cas out here. He wants Cas to lie next to him, to curl around him like a sweaty, human, awesome blanket.  
  
Dean carefully takes off Cas’s glasses and puts them on the table. Then he slides one arm under Cas’s knees, the other under his back, and slowly lifts him from the couch. Cas is skinny and light for a human, and he stays lax in Dean’s arms. He only turns his head so his face is pressed against Dean’s t-shirt, and smiles a little. He doesn’t wake.  
  
Dean carries him into the bedroom and lays him down on his side of the bed. The covers are pulled away, so Dean just has to undress Cas quickly so he won’t get cold. Cas frowns in his sleep and almost wakes up, but when Dean starts humming ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’, he’s pulled back under again and goes still.  
  
Dean tucks the covers around his man, and slips into the bed from the other side as soon as he’s shed his own clothes. Cas shifts, sensing his warmth, and Dean doesn’t hesitate to pull him close. Cas rolls over easily and tangles their legs together, breath calm and warm against Dean's neck, before sneaking an arm around Dean’s waist. He sighs again.  
  
“Freakin’ octopus,” Dean murmurs into the dark and kisses his angel’s temple.  
  
Cas sleeps on.  
  


~*~


	10. Drinking Champagne, A Bottle To Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean gets picked up in a bar._

“A Coke with lemon and a strawberry mojito,” Dean says, and the pretty bartender nods at him once before bustling off to mix Cas's drink. It's weird for Dean to think of guys like that, but in this case it's true; the bartender is _pretty_ , all effeminate features, long lashes and a dimpled smile. He's also, if Cas's hunch is right (and it usually is) gay as the day's long. Dean wonders, in a more hypothetical way than anything else, whether or not he'd have a chance with Mister Bartender if he wasn't as good as married.  
  
He gets his Coke almost immediately, and swirls the lemon squeeze absently with his straw. Without meaning to, his gaze falls on the band on his finger, like it does often when he's not thinking about anything in particular. He refuses to let the smile on his face show. Cas himself is slouched in one of the foofy couches over in the corner, too comfortable to be bothered to get his own drink. Dean doesn't actually mind getting it for him; he just likes to tease Cas about being lazy. Dean's careful about it, though. Cas might be getting that job soon, when Jennifer's maternity leave kicks in, but as of now he still puttles around the house while Dean's tending his two jobs. Dean doesn't mind that, either, but he knows Cas is afraid Dean might think he's _actually_ lazy.  
  
Which is ridiculous.   
  
“Heeeeeeeeey,” somebody wheezes into his ear in a way Dean guesses is meant to sound attractive, and a long, gangly brunette with a huge rack swivels onto the bar stool next to him. She doesn't finish that ridiculously long 'hey' of hers until she's sat down and propped up on her elbows, looking him in the face whilst still showing off said rack. Dean muses that they're probably not real, with how big they are compared to this girl's thin frame, and notices that as much as she seems to want to, she can't actually focus her gaze enough to look him directly in the eyes.  
  
“You're _hot_ ,” she states, matter-of-factly, and sways on the chair. Dean sighs mentally, because where the fuck are her friends? She needs someone to look after her – this girl's so drunk she's barely vertical. Also she doesn't look a day over eighteen, which is making him all kinds of uncomfortable considering how close she's leaning.  
  
“Um, thanks,” he says and looks around to see if anyone wants to claim responsibility for the jail bait.  
  
“D'you – d'you think _I'm_ hot?” she slurs on, and almost loses her balance. In the end she has to steady herself with a hand conveniently placed on Dean's thigh, high enough that he'd rather just _not have her there, thanks_.  
  
“Uhhh,” Dean says eloquently. No tipsy, equally-hot friend is staggering up to them, apologizing for her friend and dragging her away, and the bartender still hasn't come with Cas's drink.  
  
“I'm Evelyn,” Jail-bait says and doesn't seem to have noticed that Dean didn't actually answer her question. She does some complicated twist with her legs that might be an attempt to cross them in an elegant fashion, which promptly causes her to fall off the chair and into Dean's lap. “Oooops,” she says with a high, clinging, fake-cute laugh and whoa, hey, hands off the crotch thanks. “I'm _so_ clumsy,” she slurs and bats her eyelashes at him – close enough that Dean can actually count said fake lashes.  
  
Way back in his mind, a voice reminds Dean that once upon a time, these were the kind of fresh-out-of-high-school girls he used to pick up, and that even a year ago, he'd probably be all over this Evelyn. Now, her too-brash, too-drunk and no-class act is almost repulsive, and he... feels a little sorry for her.  
  
Which is fucking ridiculous.  
  
“Here's your drink,” Mister Pretty Bartender says and places the mojito in front of Dean, with a look at Evelyn that says _sorry, she gets like that_.  
  
“Ohhhh, 's looks gewd,” Evelyn says and grins up at Dean. “You got the preshiest eyes.” There's a smudge of dark-red lipstick on her otherwise bright-white teeth.  
  
“It's not for me,” Dean says, still lost somewhere between confused, annoyed, and pitying.  
  
Her face scrunches up like a guinea pig as she snorts with laughter. “Look, hotness, I d'n _care_ 'bout your wife.” Her other hand – the one that's not almost on his crotch, rises to pet him condescendingly (or maybe meant to be soothing?) on the cheek.  
  
Which is the exact moment when Dean feels a warm, familiar weight on his shoulder and winces. “I, uh, not a girlfriend,” he says as Cas takes another step forward to lock onto Evelyn's cross-eyed stare.  
  
“Wha,” Evelyn starts, but then Cas has got her. He doesn't sign a word, barely shifts; just moves his hand to cup Dean's neck, not so much in a possessive gesture as a reassuring one. Which Dean thinks is ridiculous and oddly sweet. Cas bends down so he's on eye-level with Evelyn, and just stares at her.  
  
The poor girl looks confused for a moment, before the gravity of Cas's _you are fucking with my boyfriend and I don't appreciate it_ glare reaches through her alcoholic haze. She looks like she's sobering up a little, her back straightening, both her hands falling away from Dean until she grabs the bar stool instead. “I, um,” she says and quiets when Cas arches an eyebrow at her.  
  
Dean, on his side, is doing everything he fucking can not to gape at his boyfriend. He doesn't care that it's been a year since Cas's wings were ripped from his body; it's like he can see them now, clear as the first day he met Castiel, Angel of the Lord; splaying behind him, black and shadowy and menacing and _fucking huge_ , and Evelyn seems to shrink where she perches.  
  
“So tha's your, your, uh,” she says, and her voice wavers.  
  
“Evelyn, meet Cas, my boyfriend,” Dean says in a dry voice – much drier than he thought he could manage. Cas takes a sharp, deep breath, one he lets out _slowly_ , as if he's saying _I am trying very hard to be calm now, ma'am, and you probably shouldn't push any more buttons of mine._  
  
“Right,” says Evelyn meekly.  
  
Cas, for the first time, turns to Dean. In his blue eyes is a barely noticeable _glint_ , sharp and silvery, and Dean wonders if every last sliver of Cas's grace disappeared with his wings – because hot damn, that's a proper angel look right there. No wonder Evelyn's almost pissing herself.  
  
Cas's hand on Dean's neck moves up to his hair, and then Cas is leaning forward and pressing their lips together, hard and perfect and _very public_. Dean does _not_ squeak into his angel's mouth, and Cas's hard eyes soften with amusement. Then he's gone, back to where he stood, as if nothing happened. Dean blinks and feels his lips tingle.  
  
Evelyn's eyes might or might not be about to pop out of her skull. “Right,” she says again, even meeker than before. Then she just _backs away_ , step by step, like Cas is some kind of wild animal that will pounce on her if she turns her back to him. Cas and Dean both watch her until the poor girl is lost in the crowd of people on the dance floor. Rihanna's 'Rude Boy' starts up, and Cas turns to pick up his drink, features smoothed out.  
  
 _Thank you,_ he signs as he tips his drink, gives Dean a small smile, and looks to the world – and Dean – just as innocent and relaxed as always.  
  
That little _minx_. “What the hell, Cas?” Dean says, not even trying not to sound amused or awed.  
  
Cas blinks at him in a _what, me?_ kind of way, and Dean shakes his head and chuckles softly. He follows Cas back to his foofy bags, and Cas flops into it like an oversized kitten, cradling his drink so he won't spill any of it. Then he starts sipping the red drink, paying close attention to the twirly straw, only pausing to press a light kiss to Dean's jaw, who's now sitting right next to him again.  
  
Dean's boyfriend is the sneakiest ex-angel in the garrison.  
  


~*~


End file.
